


It Became a Passtime

by RedBerrie



Series: Passtimes [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Plug, BDSM, Dom Thomas Jefferson, Dom/sub Play, Feminization, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sub Alexander Hamilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7645615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBerrie/pseuds/RedBerrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When Hamilton was buzzed in by his secretary, he came into Thomas' office like a bull whose tail had been pulled. He was pissed, but that was okay.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>By this point, Thomas thought that Hamilton was adorable when he was mad.</i>
</p>
<p>The further adventures of Alexander Hamilton being a little shit, and Thomas Jefferson having none of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Became a Passtime

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to "[Why He Even Brings The Thunder](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7490184)" that exactly nobody asked for.
> 
> This was a little more rushed than the first one. It just didn't flow quite as easily. But, honestly? I've worked on it too long, so I'm finished with it, and y'all get what it is.

It had been three weeks, and he was jittery and on edge again.

Alexander Hamilton was well acquainted with this particular brand of jitters. They made his skin crawl, made him unable to focus, made him irritable. Made him lash out at people with his biting whit. People like his coworkers. People like his boss.

Fortunately, Mayor Washington was also well acquainted with his youngest deputy mayor's jitters, and was willing to overlook a multitude of sins for the sake of channeling that biting whit to more productive uses.

Still, Alex worried that the day would come when Washington decided that his talents were simply not worth putting up with his character flaws, and would put him out on his ear. He quickly discovered a way to calm himself, soothe his demons for a time – or, at the very least, make them easier to live with. It wasn't perfect, only half of the puzzle, but it was better than nothing.

Then the full puzzle came together, the last piece found in the form of First Deputy Mayor Thomas Jefferson.

It worked. More than that, the little system that they had worked _well_. Jefferson seemed to have a sixth sense for when Alex was in need of his services, and would contact the younger man. If not, if somehow it slipped his notice, a simple text would rectify the problem. A single steamy night – one that both men thoroughly enjoyed – and Alexander would be good for another several weeks.

Only it hadn't worked like that this time.

The problem was the business seminar coming up. After a few  _unfortunate incidents_ in different mayoral offices around the country, the president had offered several week-long seminars to be attended by the staff of any mayor who wanted to take advantage of the program. Washington, Mayor of New York City, wanted to. In order not to leave the office understaffed, his three deputy mayors were attending three different seminars.

Which is how it came to be that Jefferson would be leaving this afternoon to attend a seminar on sexual harassment in the workplace in Washington, D.C.

Alexander didn't even realize consciously that he was waiting for a text from Jefferson until it didn't arrive. He figured that the other man had simply been so busy trying to put his affairs in order for his week-long absence that he hadn't noticed. Alex realized that no text would be forthcoming this morning.

It was too late to arrange a meetup of any sort. Jefferson's flight left at 7:35pm. Not only would he have no time for coworkers after work, he would actually be leaving the office a few minutes early.

But it was okay. Alexander was a big boy; he would figure it out. It wasn't like he hadn't had other sexual partners in the past. There was Kitty Livingston, his first; but she was married now. There was Gilbert du Motier; but he was married and back in France, which was a bit too far for a booty call. There was John Laurens; but Jack never came home from Iraq. There was Elizabeth Schuyler; but last he heard things were serious between her and her boyfriend. There was Angelica Schuyler; but she was married, and still not talking to him after the whole Eliza debacle.

There were others, like that weird German kid in college who insisted everyone call him “Baron”, but he had no idea where they were or if they'd be agreeable to a hookup. Besides, he was starting to feel a bit sleazy, a bit desperate.

He decided to do what he had done before Jefferson and go rub one off in the shower tonight. It wasn't ideal, but it would get him through. It was just a week, right? How bad could it get?

Just then, his laptop played the jingle for the office calendar. He sighed, wondering what idiot he would have to refrain from blowing up at today, and opened the calendar up … to find that Jefferson had sent a request for a meeting in a half hour.

Alexander frowned. Jefferson had a nasty habit of acting like he was Alex's boss, instead of a slightly-higher ranking coworker. He technically couldn't boss Alex around, but it never stopped him from trying. Well. He snorted, amused with himself, as he hit the “Decline” button.

Thirty seconds later, his phone beeped that he had an incoming text. He sighed when he saw it was from Jefferson. Probably wanting to bitch that Alex “wasn't being a team player” again or something. He would read it when he had a moment; for now, he was in the middle of typing up a proposal that he was trying to finish by the end of the business day.

Two minutes later, his phone rang. Jefferson must be serious. He reluctantly picked it up and accepted the call. “ 'Ello,” he said, making his voice as chipper as possible.

“Get your bitch ass over here _now._ ” Jefferson's voice, even over the cellphone, cracked sharp like a whip, and the line went dead.

The laptop beeped again. This time, he hit the “Accept” button.

* * *

When Hamilton was buzzed in by his secretary, he came into Thomas' office like a bull whose tail had been pulled. He was pissed, but that was okay.

By this point, Thomas thought that Hamilton was adorable when he was mad.

Hamilton paused in the door, taken off guard. He had probably expected Thomas to be seated behind his desk. Instead, Thomas was standing in front of it, leaning against it so far that he was half sitting on it.

Hamilton recovered quickly. “How dare you,” he began. “How dare you summon me down here like I'm your inferior. How dare you-”

Thomas had seen this before. Hamilton was prone to fits of passion; and oftentimes the more he talked, the more he worked himself over into a fit of rage. If allowed, he could rant for hours about even the most insignificant of subjects.

The trick was not to allow it.

“Lock the door,” Thomas commanded, and the smooth calm of his voice cut through Hamilton's tirade like a hot knife through butter. “The safeword for tonig- _today_ is 'wagon'.”

Hamilton blinked owlishly at him for a full four seconds, and Thomas secretly pat himself on the back for reducing the man to silence. That silence, however, didn't last.

“No,” Hamilton said, crossing his arms. “There are _boundaries_ , Jefferson. In the bedroom, you're … well, the dynamic is one thing, but at work we are equals. _Equals_. We're not doing this now.”

“Then when are we doing this?” Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow. “Christ, man; look at you. You're shaking like a leaf in November.” Hamilton frowned, but couldn't refute anything. “You _need this_. And I leave for the airport in two hours. So, either we do this now, or you wait until I come back in a week.”

Hamilton's frown only deepened. “I can take care of myself,” he insisted. “I was doing it long before you came along; if we ever part ways, I'll be doing it again.”

Thomas left his face impassive, and only raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you were taking care of yourself,” he said sarcastically, reminding them both of the time he caught Hamilton desperately masturbating in the bathroom. “How effective was that, again?”

Hamilton couldn't reply. Jefferson had him, and they both knew it. Now, it was just a matter of how long Hamilton was going to waste stubbornly refusing to admit the truth for the sake of his pride. Time neither man had.

He had applied the stick; now it was time for the carrot. “An hour,” he said, voice steady. “Give me an hour, and I'll give you what you need. Then you'll go back to your office, and I'll leave for the airport; and when I come back in a week, I'll take my time and really work you over. And we'll never do this in the office again, except in case of another emergency. You walk out that door in an hour, and we're equals again. Just give me that hour.” Hamilton looked like he was caving. Time for a little more stick. “I don't want to come home to New York to find you unemployed.”

Hamilton hesitated a moment longer, before nodding. “Wagon,” he repeated, picking up the ritual where they had left off. “How do you want me?” He reached over and locked the office door.

Thomas took a breath, and grew into his role. His spine straightened, his shoulders rolled back, his face went blank. In short, he went from politician to commander. “Trousers and boxers off,” he instructed.

Hamilton didn't hesitate, unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, and pulling the whole mess down. He blushed, just a little bit, as he stood back up; then stepped out of the garments. “Is that all?” he asked, a little surprised.

Thomas notices how the opening of his dress shirt is just a little parted and his dick is on full display. It's a wonderfully obscene sight. “Whore like you, your cock and your ass are the only parts that matter,” he bites out, and ignores how that dick hardens just a little bit at the insult. “On the desk.”

Hamilton complies immediately.

Thomas decides to push a little bit more. “Be a good girl and hold your cheeks open,” he commands, watching as Hamilton grabs a cheek in each hand and spreads them apart, exposing himself from taint to asshole. And, dammit, does it make a pretty sight. He raises himself up, just a bit, on his toes; he curves his spine; he spreads his legs apart just a bit more. He presents like a bitch in heat.

Thomas can't help it; he crosses the room in a single stride and licks a single stripe, from Hamilton's balls all the way up to the top of his crack. Hamilton gasps at the sudden sensation, then all but mews in pleasure, as his dick fills out the rest of the way. Thomas feels like coddling the other man. “Oh, baby girl,” he coos into Hamilton's ass, “you're so pretty like this. So damn pretty.” Hamilton mews again in pleasure at the praise, and that ass is thrust just a bit higher into the air.

Then makes a sound of protest as Thomas stands abruptly and moves behind his desk, to open a drawer and get out a few objects he'll need. Two, the bottle of lube and condom, he places in full view of a suddenly-attentive Hamilton. The other, he puts into his mouth, and is careful to turn so that Hamilton can't see.

* * *

Alex doesn't mind the nudity, although at times it can be embarrassing. The shame just adds a new level of the forbidden to their game, a hint of the deliciously taboo.

He doesn't even mind spreading his asscheeks, even if it's a much more intimate display. He knows how to give a show; and knows that the better the show, the better the reward.

Then Jefferson licks a stripe up the sensitive skin between his cheeks, and his brain explodes. The surprise, the base pleasure, the way the newly-wet skin tingles. He thought that that skin was sensitive before? Now he could swear that he can feel every single air molecule, and it leaves him hard as a rock and wrecked already.

“Oh, baby girl,” Jefferson is cooing, and he's doing it _into his ass_ , “you're so pretty like this. So damn pretty.” And Alex can't help but preen under the praise.

Then Jefferson is suddenly gone, and Alex can't help the whine of protest that escapes unbidden. This was _just getting good_. But Jefferson just pulls out the lube and a condom, and Alex's head is suddenly spinning.

“Yes, yes _please_ ,” he's not embarrassed to beg.

Jefferson, however, is having none of it. The ass that had just had attention lavished on it suddenly gets an open-palmed swat. “Patience, slut,” the command is oddly slurred, the insult expected. It still makes his dick twitch in interest.

“Hands on the desk,” Jefferson commands, and Alex automatically obeys. A lube-slick finger slips into him, and he groans with the pleasure. Another soon joins it, and Jefferson is scissoring the fingers, stretching him out.

Suddenly, there's an odd _pop_ behind him. He has just enough time to wonder what it is, when something plastic-soft is being pressed inside him.

He whines with frustration. The plug is just large enough to stretch him, but not large enough to do much else. It's a tease, nothing more.

Jefferson comes around and sits at his desk. “You're now going to stand like that,” he demands in that voice of his that leaves no room for disobedience. “You're going to leave your hands on the desk. You may not move your pelvis.” He hesitates a moment. “Do you remember your safeword?” he asks.

“Wagon,” Alex answers automatically.

“Good. You may not talk.” And then Jefferson _starts working_ , just typing on his laptop and shuffling files around and doing office-related activities that Alex is too far gone to grasp the significance of. All this, and _he's completely ignoring Alex_.

He tries to be obedient, he really does. In fact, he does extremely well for the first fifteen minutes. He does well, right up until the plug unexpectedly starts vibrating, and he lets out a string of curses that ends only when Jefferson reaches over and smacks him in the ass with a ruler, like he's an errant schoolboy, without even looking.

The next transgression happens ten minutes later, when the vibrations from the plug are just too much, they just overwhelm him, and Alex finds himself rutting against the desk before he even realizes what he meant to do. Another smack, this time a double hit, stills his hips. Five minutes later, another attempt to alleviate the growing pressure in his groin earns him three smacks with the ruler.

He gets the hint.

By the time Jefferson stands back up and comes around the desk, he doesn't even feel like he's part of his body anymore. He's floating, weightless, observing the situation from his perch somewhere on the ceiling. It's an odd sort of numbness, one that isn't entirely unwelcome. It also comes crashing down when Jefferson suddenly yanks the plug out and replaces it with his own cock.

The peaceful serenity of his floating numbness shifts to violent passion in a single moment. Jefferson is thrusting into him, hard, and he's overwhelmed by the mindblowing pleasure of the act. He's been hard for so long now, waited for this so long, everything feels crystal-sharp and excruciatingly focused.

Jefferson doesn't even bother commanding him not to come before he himself does; instead, he simply reaches around and grasps Alex's dick at the base and squeezes. Alex whines in annoyance but doesn't complain. Instead, he focuses on clenching his ass muscles. It gets the desired results; with a shout, Jefferson comes.

The fingers wrapped around his dick loosen. He tries to thrust in between them, tries to fuck them, but the hand is suddenly gone completely.

“I bet you don't even need anything,” Jefferson's voice is suddenly hot on the back of his neck. “A hussy like you? I bet you don't need anything but my voice.” He nips at the pulsepoint beneath Alex's ear. “Come for me, you filthy whore.”

And Alex does.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Alexander leaves Jefferson's office and goes back to his own. He gets an astonishing amount of work done in the scant few hours left in the day.

An hour later, Thomas leaves the office, and heads straight for the airport. He spends a week in D.C., enjoying the city on the government's dime, and completely ignoring the irony of attending a conference on sexual harassment in the workplace when he can still remember the little mews Hamilton makes right before he comes.

A week later, Thomas returns home. He texts Alex, who is waiting for him at his house outside the city. Neither man leaves the house until Monday, when they both go straight to the office from the house. Both men are unusually chipper for a Monday.

Alex seems to have trouble sitting for any length of time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A repeat from the first one: I know next to nothing about the BDSM scene. While I tried to be as respectful as possible of what I know about the Dom/sub dynamics, and what a responsible scene looks like, there's a very real chance I fucked up. Please don't hesitate to tell me if I did, and please, PLEASE, don't model your expectations on what BDSM looks like on my fic. Get someone who knows what they're talking about to help you.


End file.
